


Short Term Memory Loss

by KeepingUpWithTheCowboys



Category: Futurama
Genre: M/M, Magic, One Shot, SO, Slash, heres a one shot, there were no zoiberg/the professor fics, uh, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepingUpWithTheCowboys/pseuds/KeepingUpWithTheCowboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were no Professor/Zoidberg fics and I needed to change that.  Here's a crappy one shot :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short Term Memory Loss

        To Zoidberg, it always seemed the highest form of happiness was food, any food he could get his pincers on; “one wants what one cannot have.”  He often woke up in the dumpster after scrounging for food, and reminisced on how being a doctor just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be…  As soon as he had found that he couldn't eat the organs of his patients, the job was worthless to him.  Still, he doctored on for the Planet Express crew, maybe still enjoying their company or comradery.

        Then again, no one much liked a Zoidberg.

        For John, though, he figured that he might as well snip, snap, and scramble till the end; being with the Professor and his team since the beginning, surviving many generations of heroes and living to be a coward, it suited him well.  And “Yes,” he often thought, “the Professor.”

        The old, decrepit man hated him as much as he figured that he might as well hate himself (it passed the time on a lazy Sunday).  But his dementia was so bad that he often forgot about that hatred for brief moments, and Zoidberg basked in the light each one seemed to shine upon him.

        Five minutes or so a month, of course.

        And so, as Zoidberg sat once more in his most frequented dumpster, he cast a wayward though to the old geezer with some stupid hope that he would think to him as well.  After living a life such as did the lobster, one began to believe in strange things.  In fact, he recalled the day that the entire crew had gone about switching bodies.  It was an interesting time for them all, but Zoidberg swore he could recollect romantic and erotic memories of that night.  Did the Professor remember?  Of course not.  Dementia.  Zoidberg blessed and cursed the condition for ruining his chances at friendship, or God-forbid some sort of romance.  Working together for sixty years, and all that Farnsworth seemed to remember each time he came back from his spells was that he hated the old crustacean doctor and wished him to be gone.

        It is said that hatred often masks inconfessable love.

        Back, a few months in the past, Zoidberg recalled that the Professor spoke out against robosexual love, then after admitting indulging in such practices himself, softened to the world.  Maybe someday he would open up to him that way, take him into his arms and tell the doctor he loved him until he forgot about him all over again.

        He would do anything for that.  Maybe it was time to start really trying.

        John Zoidberg jumped out of the dumpster and made a dash for the building.  He’d make the Professor understand him, and by God it would be nice if he could love him too.  At least for a few minutes again.

...

        The Professor himself was content with his dementia, or that which he called it.  It was really more or less a poor short term memory.

        He’d never tell anyone his body retained the memory of his out of body sexual endeavours with Zoidberg.  He’d never tell that even some of the picture of it were burned into his mind.  And he’d certainly never say that he had enjoyed it…  That much was hard enough to admit to himself.  As a man of science and logical thinking, he still wanted to kill Fry and Leela for giving him those memories, what with the strange, ugly, inescapable feelings they left him with.  Almost every night in bed he thought of it and swore as it made him long for the doctor ever more.  Yet he didn’t; he hated Zoidberg- the mind is a fickle mistress indeed.  Farnsworth found, though, that he had to give the doctor some credit.  Sticking with him all this time had been a thankless job, as much as he hated Zoidberg, all the other crew members hated him more.  Save maybe Cubert, who seemed to harbor some feelings towards Zoidberg being a father figure in his life or something.  But that should have been hogwash.  Brainmush.

        None of this had mattered before.

...

        Doctor Zoidberg bursted into the room where the Professor sat, on his work stool, in front of his drawer of assorted lengths of wire.  He was resting his chin forlornly on his palm ant turned to see the lobster in surprise.  “Look,” he spoke quickly, “I’m depressed and there’s no more fish in the dumpster.”

        The Professor squinted his eyes behind his glasses, heart pounding a million times a minute.  “...And?”  He asked slowly.

        “And I know you may have forgotten, but I have not.  I could not forget the best night of this body’s life, even if my brain does not really understand it.  I pray, Professor, that you have some semblance at all of what I’m talking about?”

        “What?”  Farnsworth’s stare was blank as ever, but Zoidberg would not slow down.  “I know we were technically Fry and Leela, but I swear, Farnsworth-”  He paused to wipe an angry, defiant, and incredibly uncalled-for tear from his eye.  “I love you, I do!  I think I always have, that’s why I stayed here with you.  I could have lived well almost anywhere else, fast food service, the black market… I would be payed there.  Regularly!  But I’ve stayed, and I don’t know why.”

        The Professor tried to frown and dismiss the comment, but he would be lying to say he hadn’t felt some kindling deep within him spark.  He wanted to hate Zoidberg, but still he found some warmth in looking at him.  It would technically be legal, effectively non-sinful, and…  To have someone to help him deal with himself when his brain was that of an old man but his body had other more youth driven plans, what a prospect.  Oh, to be his normal self again.  But until then…

        “Zoidberg, I despise you.  Everyone does.  But I figure… we’re not getting any younger and I’d hate to say I never slept with an alien whilst in my right mind.”

        Zoidberg nearly gasped.  “Haven’t you?”

        Shrugging, the Professor got down and spread his arms open.  “Beats me.  So why don't you take me for a spin?  This pelvis has got a few thrusts left in it on the warranty.”  Zoidberg nodded unbelievingly and embraced the old man.  His crest rose up and soon they were walking away into the depths of the base.  

...

        “Did you know, Zoidberg, that none of my bones are made of bone?  I’ve still got some spark left in me!”

  
        And all the doctor could do was nod.


End file.
